And yet, the night breeze, I sensed, it became a hurricane in the morning, my dream, in it as though truth itself, is to know that night breeze, as though in romance- to romance the mystery of the hidden truth. For I love the night breeze, which so few yet can sense.

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Friday, August 7, 2015

Quiet, the Maddening Voice

Nothing... else. Your voice, it's you.
What you say - I tend to ignore.
Not on purpose. Truly. Of course.
Radiance. Hope. Your voice sooths me.
It's what I love, not just the... rest.

And I await its sound. In its unholy rest.
I crave its rhythm, its unsettling upsets.
Your voice fills my form, and my unsettled unrest.

If I could, to hear you protest.... I'd upset you...
I'd buy you flowers, if it caused you to speak a word most unset.
I might'as well be entirely blind. And though you are beautiful,
For it is your siren sound that attracts me,
Your natural speech, that sound, I seek.
Your magnetic chords of everyday - I everyday seek.

And as your voice undulates notes,
I sit and listen, fate not unset.
To a voice, unrivalled, a voice I...
I cannot but sit through a million undue, unset.

The winter ice touches my lungs,
It freezes my inner sets.

And I listen carefully. I await your unsettling upset.
I look to my telephone, but it seems unset.
I do not bother to lift it,
And without your voice, I am upset.

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